


And I Asked the Ethereal Girls If They Were Floating Yet

by summerstorm



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: American Idol S9, F/M, Gen, Massage, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-10
Updated: 2010-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-09 09:41:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you seriously giving me a back rub right now?" she says mockingly, and Casey huffs out a snort. "Who taught you how to do this, Casey? Did deer teach you to do this? I suppose this is what you think of as 'hard work.'"</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Asked the Ethereal Girls If They Were Floating Yet

**Author's Note:**

> These are two connected (by characters and episode and the fact that they happen within like, thirty minutes of each other) ficlets, one porny, one gen, but they can each be read alone as well. Title from "I Saw a Bird Fly Away" by Dar Williams.

"Come here," Casey says, gesturing her over. His legs are spread open and Siobhan sits between them at his request, her back just a few inches away from his chest. He shifts farther into the couch, and she's considering asking if there's a purpose to it or he just felt a big bad pea under the cushions — if the look Mike's directing at them from the snack table is anything to go by, she's not the only one pondering that — when she feels Casey's thumb and forefinger at the juncture between her skull and the back of her neck, applying light pressure that goes on for a while even after she gets the point and quits trying to sneak looks back at him.

His hands move down to thumb away the knots at the base of her neck; she doesn't even realize how tense she is until she's not anymore. "Are you seriously giving me a back rub right now?" she says mockingly, and Casey huffs out a snort.

"Don't see you complaining," Casey says, continuing to work her back into submission, moving downwards slowly. He's being pretty thorough for a quick thing they have to be done with by the time commercials are over.

"Who taught you how to do this, Casey? Did deer teach you to do this? I suppose this is what you think of as 'hard work.'"

He feels more than hears Casey's laughter drumming around her body, and then he's a little warmer, a little closer, and there are lips on her earlobe and he's saying, "You don't want to know what I think of as 'hard work,'" and suddenly she feels hyperconscious that they're not alone in the room. There's only Mike here with them right now — everybody else went or stayed back out to talk to their family and fans — but it's still vaguely awkward.

"No such thing as something I don't want to know," Siobhan says, and reaches for the blanket slung over the arm of the couch, wrapping it around her legs. It always gets a little chilly for her a while after she gets off the stage, like the fact that she's live on camera is a temperature stabilizer and when that's gone, her body catches up with her.

"That skirt is ridiculous," Mike agrees, shaking his head and grabbing a handful of something for the road. Then, he says, "They're playing the Sons of Sylvia tape now. Hold onto that blanket a little longer — I'll tell the guys you're warming up," before heading out the door. The look he gives her and Casey before pulling it shut is a tad skeptical, but it'll do.

Casey's hands are still on her back, have been rubbing wide, lazy circles while she moved and Mike talked, and as soon as they're alone, they slide down underneath her dress and over her sides, stroking lightly, palms large on her skin, so warm she shivers as the heat spreads over her belly and back, along her arms.

"It really is a ridiculous skirt," Casey comments softly.

It sounds like there's more to the thought, but he just pulls her a little closer, fingertips lightly tapping her ribs in a way that she's pretty sure has no health-related purpose, not saying anything, so she assumes she caught the wrong inflection in his voice and says, "Oh, like you could possibly talk—"

"My fingers are itching to get under it," he says, effectively cutting her off. He pulls his hands out of her dress and holds her hips as — warning, she thinks — and then they come down over her thighs and her knees open out for him and he says, "The wait is painful."

Siobhan just lets her head fall back over his shoulder and blinks and says, "Oh. Do you want me to—" and, a little softer, "Feel free to do inappropriate things to me at this moment."

His fingertips are already tracing extended ellipses along the inside of one of her thighs, and his other hand is holding up her knee, sliding down her calf to pull her leg over his. She tugs the blanket along, just to stay warm, and also in case Mike doesn't do right by them and somebody walks in.

He starts with some light pressure over her panties, almost playful, but she really doesn't want to get worked up only to be on edge all night, so she rolls her hips as a way of asking for a little bit more. She could say it, sure, but she's enjoying the near silence.

He says, matter of fact, like the real concern it is, "You think you can come in less than four minutes?" and she says, "_Yes_," because, like, what's the point of trying if you don't think you can make it, and then she feels her skirt being rolled up, and his hand slipping past the waistband of her underwear.

"Guess which woodland animal taught me to do this," he says, and she's not sure if she gasps at his bizarrely serious tone or at the physical contact. His fingers tease at her entrance and then slide up so _easily_ — she hadn't realized she was slick enough for that — and he starts working her clit right away and it's just exactly what she needs right now.

She's inclined to believe it's the former that gets to her, just because it makes less sense. "That's such a disturbing thing to say right now," she remarks, arching into Casey's hand. "I love it."

Casey laughs at that, incredibly loud against the muffled white noise coming from the other side of the door. When he stops, with a quiet, fond, "You're so fucking weird," the silence seems nearly haunting. Siobhan doesn't mean to moan at that, but she does anyway. She's never been good at holding back.

He actually makes good on that whole actually making her come before someone walks in thing, which is kind of a relief. It doesn't seem important that they haven't done this before — though she's a little curious about why Casey thought she'd be okay with that, unless he went for it just in case, which does sort of seem like a Casey thing to do that he could play off if he got a no — and it doesn't feel like he's trying to impress her or anything. He's just concentrating on— on not getting too worked up himself, she thinks, and just pulling her strings neatly and unpretentiously.

How he catches on what does it for her specifically so fast she has no idea, because she's not even that vocal, but she's cool with it all right. He keeps taking her to the edge and backtracking just when she feels like she might fall apart, rubbing harder at her clit and slowing down nearly to a halt, dipping inside of her and doing it all over again until she's breathing out in short, audible bursts and her body straightens and she feels all the tension rush out of her in waves.

She has just enough time to compose herself and make some small talk — actually, what she says is, "You're gonna have to find a few minutes later to let me give you a blowjob," and he says, "You really don't have to—" and she says, eyebrows raised, "I don't think you're seeing yourself right now, but, if you did, I think you'd want to blow you too," which, well, there's a _point_ to it, but it feels like small talk anyhow — before Casey's handler comes looking for him.

Everything about the night seems to go a lot more smoothly after that.

*

Being in the bottom two with Casey makes Siobhan feel like crying. It's seriously a struggle not to be overtly emotional, but it's just— it's too early to start crying _now_. She categorically refuses to do it.

"I shouldn't care this much," she tells Casey. "I mean, if you go home, you'll—"

"I'll be okay," Casey agrees.

"And if I do—"

"You're not going to," Casey says. She knows he's trying to be helpful, and there's probably some logic behind the statement, but she wouldn't really even be a shock elimination at this point. She can accept that. She needs to accept that.

"But if I _do_," Siobhan says, enunciating, "I'll get to do what I do more than I have here, and like, let people know that Idol didn't assassinate my awesome or my quirks or anything."

"I don't think your quirks are capable of dying," Casey says. "They're way too stubborn for that."

Siobhan smiles. "What if I wanted to kill them?" she suggests. "Am I more stubborn than my quirks?"

"That's some food for thought right there," he says, but it's not, not really, and she finds she can't really elaborate, and she's never even been in the bottom three before, and she actually had fun last night, and the audience seemed to like it, and— "You can make more princess jokes at me if you like," Casey says, interrupting her train of thought. It probably showed on her face or something. He's good at making people smile and feel at ease.

Before he can add another word, Siobhan takes him up on it. "I hope you revised your magical birds' working conditions," she says, first gesturing and then reaching out to thread her fingers through a lock of his hair. "They're not slaves, Casey. They can't braid your hair and hum pleasantly 24/7. They deserve to have their own lives that are not intrinsically tied to the high-maintenance bitch that employs them."

"I would," Casey says, eyes flickering to her wrist, "but it appears I can't bat them off no matter how hard I try."

"Ohh," she blurts out. She even surprises herself at how 'and suddenly, _eureka_' it sounds, but whatever. This is totally a good thing she's thought of right now. "If Lee can't lean on me next week, you should totally let him play with your hair. Just to give him something to think about that's not how he's totally, like, overstayed his welcome and is going to be sick or whatever."

"You want him to think about my hair instead?" Casey says incredulously. "That would involve freaking out when people start wondering if he's gay. How's that any better than nerves?"

Siobhan makes a scarily realistic 'holy crap I need to throw up' face — she knows it's scarily realistic because people tend to walk around her and either leg it or hold her hair like she actually means it when she does it — and, before Casey's grimace is fully formed, she attempts to shift her mouth into a beak while she bats her eyelashes and whistles like a mockingbird.

"Okay, yeah," Casey concedes, "I definitely like the weird whistling bird better."

And then Siobhan starts thinking about what kind of bird Lee would be, complete with stupid faces that Casey first attempts to mirror and then just stops and starts coming up with his own, and she doesn't feel a lick better about maybe getting kicked off tonight, but she feels a lot more aware that if it does happen, she'll just have a good cry and get over it, and it'll all be just fine.


End file.
